The Proof's In The Truth
by SusieCues
Summary: Spoilers for S10, E1-6 A chapter an episode. Mulder and Scully reunited, and it feels so good.
1. Chapter 1

**_THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH_**

* * *

 _Carpe diem_ kept running through her mind. How ironic Dana thought as she sank lower in the tub of hot, restorative water, which she hoped would retool her frayed peace of mind. Grotesque shadows from the past loomed large in her psyche. Tamping those phantoms down as best she could, she exhaled deliberately, squeezing the tension that went with having misgivings through her delicate nostrils. The hue of her exposed, wet skin, glistening, reminded her of tissue paper. She glided both hands against her snow-capped knees as she cast a sigh into the moisture-rich air. Her remodeled bathroom with its gleaming new fixtures, sleek white subway tiles, beaded board paneling and decoupage map wallpaper had been handsomely transformed. It was a haven revamped, even lighter and brighter. She was proudest of her clawfoot, cast iron slipper bathtub, which stood next to the shuttered window on the neutral travertine floor. Having craved this sort of tub for so long, she reveled in its off-white classic elegance. Lazily, her thoughts muzzy, yet traveling a direct path, her hand stretched for the glass of reasonably chilled red wine, a spritzy Lambrusco, and not too sweet. Wines that were too sweet left an annoying aftertaste in her mouth.

Taking a nice slow sip, Dana eased back again in her private mini water park of relaxation and calm. Unbidden, Sveta's haunting words invaded her sanctuary as they tolled in her mind. _"You probably don't recognize me...you interviewed me and my family when I was just a little girl."_ When Dana reopened her eyes, she shivered in the piping water that made this room a steam bath. What she and Sveta shared in common wreaked havoc internally. She quaked internally.

 _Sveta and her shell-shaped scars and the scars I carry, I try so hard to bury, keeping them far from sight_ , she pondered.

"Don't give up," she intoned, imbibing substantially this time, the wine she'd drunk thus far loosening her achy lower limbs. Her head didn't hurt as much as it had a while ago as thoughts of Mulder left their elusive trails. Traipsing through the past was grueling. Had she ever been that young, and dewy-eyed, when she'd chosen to make debunking Mulder's obsessions her cause? More wine. Licking her lips as the smooth, tasty liquid snaked down her throat, Dana let go. She set the small stemmed water glass down again on the little stool close to the tub. Mulder's dogmatic voice chimed in her ears..." _Humans have been working on alien hybrids_." _How clandestine of them_ , Dana rued. " _We were misled. Sveta is the key to unlocking the truth._ "

She wondered how long it would take Mulder to contact his old pals, the trio of conspiracy theorists, who had somehow mysteriously survived their supposed demise. Dana's mind reeled as those troubling old times were worming their insidious ways back into her life. _Her_ life, the one she had worked feverishly to reconstruct after the bottom had dropped out of what had seemed to be reality. His skewed reality Mulder was now so sure they'd been duped to believe.

Why now, was this incongruous claptrap and rigmarole, coming to light? Was it yet another ploy to mislead him off on still another dreary tangent?

She hiccuped once, then twice and a little smile played on her lips as she airily breathed, "And away we go," inaugurated by her feet splashing the water that had cooled since her disjointed musings had begun. Sitting up, she let out some of the water to lower the level in the tub, waited until the level she desired was reached, then turned the hot water faucet on again to warm things up. All the while she had continued muttering what Tad had led Mulder to embrace.

" _Alien technology has been hoarded to serve a darker threat_..."

"You'd loved to prove that, wouldn't you? You need proof, Tad, not impossible speculations which cause hysteria."

The whimsical smile that had played upon her lips vanished as she shut off the hot water faucet. In heightened exacerbation, she released, "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder...when does it end? How much more of your life will you theorize away? Do you expect me to blindly follow, trusting you, believing in your hypothesis of what truth is?" She brought her wrist up to her mouth, mashing the lateral side of her hand against it as tears desperate to be shed welled up. "You'll never stop until you satisfy what it is that torments you." In the background, beyond these four walls a neighbor's dog brayed. Dana took several calming breaths, listening to the yelping of the raspy animal. The disruptive noise reminded her of the case that had involved an eerie breed in particular, the Wanshang Dhole and its aftermath of Mulder's _I Want To Believe_ poster being replaced by Karin Berquist. Though Dana had purposely upped her bath water's degrees, she couldn't help but shiver as torrents of disturbing retrospection cascaded through her floodgates. Uncertainty stole through her, choking her slowly, until Dana couldn't breathe her way around those suffocating thoughts and memories.

"If your life has become a punch line, Mulder, mightn't it have been you who supplied the grist to that mill?" She grimly restated her own words with a twist to their intent. "It's all so stupid, _not_. It borders on treason, _not_." Her heavy sigh lingered in the room after she finished draining her glass of not so chilled wine. _Where did the wine go_ , trickled in her brain. A pang of sobriety reclaimed her when she thought that she and Sveta had something madding and painfully in common, aside from Mulder. "Genome, oh genome... Where'd my alien DNA come from?" A good deal more pie-eyed than when she'd entered the tub, Dana paused, then giggles escaped. Contemplative at the moment, strident the next, she jauntily remarked, "And-I'm back. Someone has to stop whoever did this to me and what's her name. If not Mulder and me, who? We are the X-Files!" She jerked her arm into a salute. Additional giggles burbled from her as she jeered, "Ol' Smokey, are you still breathing?" An outpouring of emotion triggered more water splashing perpetrated by forceful hands. She squinted with the introduction of somewhat sudsy water entering an eye. "Watch it turns out he was never wiped off the map. Even as I splash, he's probably alive, laughing as well, and still behind all this rack and ruin."

The thought of the Cigarette-Smoking Man undead drove shock waves through Dana. "Cancerman, you better not be still alive," she vented for the benefit of hearing such conviction out loud.

Carefully making it to her feet, she stepped out of the tub and heard her cell phone ping. She reached for it on the same stool the wine glass sat and grinned seeing it was her own personal conspiracy enthusiast calling. Still predictable after all these years, she thought. Maybe even crazier too. He was back in her life as easily as his not having been in it mere days ago. Her heart leapt as she accepted the call while shimmying back down into the cherished tub. Huskily, she funneled into the phone, "Whassup?"

"Hey, Shorty..."

"Mulder, in all the time we've been together, you never made fun of my height, or lack thereof, before," she pooh-pooed.

He didn't reply right away, just snickered, treasuring the tipsy vibe laced in her reproof. "Sure I have, Scully. Lots of time, never meant as a put-down. Remember it's slang for a fine female. Which be you," he chirped, going for street-wise.

Feeling dizzy in the tub, Dana held on to one of its curved sides. "I'm not as cute and cuddly as I used to be." _Cuddly_ , she mentally winced. When had she ever been that unless under the age of six counted.

Mulder, calling from the Gunmen's new and improved 'digs,' waved her nonsense off. "Who said?"

"I say, Mulder," Dana huffed, rising up from the water that was tepid again, determined to snag a towel, then her bathrobe, to ensconce herself in it. Dry, while wrapping the robe around herself she replied, "Mulder..." About to protest that she had another bottle of wine to crack open, her soon-to-be-on-again partner in investigation of far-out phenomena that defied plausible explanation cut her off.

"The guys say, 'hi.'"

"Hey, Scully," said Langly, breaking off from installing the latest in virus protection long enough to say, "Missed you."

She wasn't sure she shared exactly the same sense of loss as he, but she voiced, "Missed you too. Good hearing your voice."

Byers stepped in and extended his sincerest sentiments. "Agent Scully, it's been too long. Look forward to seeing you again."

Shaking his head, Frohike yanked Mulder's phone from Byers' sweaty hand and saucily extended, "Hey, pretty lady, it's been quite the dry spell not hearing from, seeing, or leering at you."

In the background, Langly's and Byers' hushed voices, promoted, "See if she'll come over."

She heard 'Hike's co-conspiracy theorists' motley request and made out Mulder and Frohike distinctly groan in tandem in retaliation. She marched to the fridge for additional wine. Forget her glass. Wild horses couldn't keep her from drinking straight out of the bottle. It was true; some history had a nasty way of repeating itself. It had been a rough day at the hospital, having said goodbye to her patients and colleagues. The reason for her resignation would remain her un-revealable secret. She was FBI-bound and the Bureau had her until further notice. That went for the man who would not rest until he had his answers too.

Old feelings she thought she felt no more about Mulder had no trouble resurfacing.

With his phone recovered and resting firmly in his possessive hand, Mulder, in tried-and-true knee-jerk fashion resumed, "Hey, Scully, what are you wearing?"

Sagging, but promptly holding herself proud, she shrugged, not answering until she took care of her most urgent need. In a matter of moments, she had her next bottle of Lambrusco uncorked. With her head tilted back and the mouth of the wine bottle at her lips, she guzzled her fill.

"Scully? Scully? Are you still there?" If she could have seen his face at the other end, which was a mask of heightened unease, she might have mustered up some small sympathy. Her rejoining him put her at risk, and this time he swore that no matter what, his mission was twofold. Know the truth and protect her from who knew what, bent on destroying them in the process. He hadn't told her everything about what he'd been up to these 'lost' years, years he had gone it alone without her and her inimitable guidance. Since reuniting, she hadn't blamed him, though, hadn't said one word about what had really made her leave him, having never looked back.

Following a round of airy-sounding hiccups, Scully came back on. "Still here, Mulder."

"Are you drinking?"

"Am I drinking?" Her twitter-patter laugh sounded unbound, as if she hadn't a care in the world. Right now, she didn't. "I'm quaffing, Mulder. Quaffing. There's a difference. A big one."

"Want company?" He sniffed.

"Do you?"

He lowered his voice. "I could really use yours." He sniffed again. "Quaffing alone isn't half as much fun as quaffing together."

Expansively, she retorted, "Then, help yourself." _Hiccup_. "I'll save you some."

He'd had lesser invitations of late, and bit at the chance to share drowning sorrows together. "I'll bring more. What are you drinking?"

Swaying a little on her feet, she gave the bottle in her hand a glancing glance. "Lambrusco, but, sangria works too."

"Yes, it certainly does. See ya, Scully. We'll collaborate...like old times."

"Mulder..."

"Yeah, Scully?"

"I've missed you too. I'm not just saying that because maybe you think I should have said it." The pause was pregnant enough. "Before."

What a little alcohol in one's system could do, like loosen a tongue he used to ravage with his.

"I think we've got lots to catch up on. And the right fuel to feed it." Old feelings that underlay memories gnawed at him too. "See you soon."

She smiled fondly at the wine bottle, padding over to, then sidling her way onto one of the saddle seat counter stools. The kitchen appeared lopsided and she giggled at that. Going back in time, was that so bad? Her world, having all the earmarks of a merry-go-round, shifted into place. Fidgeting in the seat, she cooed into the phone,"Soon, Mulder." Having his voice in her ear had her feeling warmer than the wine.

The years of separation, too much time apart, melted away when she heard him say, "I've been away too long from my touchstone."

Her gentle sobbing replaced easy banter as she clung to the phone and heard him promise the Lone Gunmen he'd see them sometime tomorrow. Until then, they needed to keep at what he'd given them to do , which they promised they would.

Back into the phone he vouched, "Too, too long."

Reflecting on what their reuniting meant, she softly replied, "Stop making it longer. Get over here."

"Bye..."


	2. Chapter 2

**_THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH - Part 2_**

* * *

Two days later, glad that her screaming hangover was well behind her, and she'd vowed not to give a bottle of wine a second look for a while, Scully was telling Mulder that Dr. Sanjay had experienced a psychotic break. The result of that mad episode was the cause of his suicide. Trying not to give her a stony look, as they stood in the top-flight genetics study facility, Mulder fractionalized his attention. He took in everything, everywhere, piecing together the overall situation. After Scully pulled out the bloody letter opener, Mulder's eyes honed in on the deceased researcher's instrument of his demise.

And then, following a room's worth of heated discussion, they were kicked out of the facility, that was swiftly put on lockdown. No thanks to the DOD.

That had been weeks ago, with the case devolving. The Department of Defense had seized control of Goldman's facility, classifying what went on there as 'Top Secret.' Skinner had informed them that they no longer had jurisdiction there. Molly and Kyle were still at large, gone without a trace. Mulder re-saw Goldman's eyes popping out, and had cracked to Skinner how it was a sight he'd never be able to 'unsee.' Thinking, always thinking, Fox had contemplated how fast time flew when weighty matters demanded he make incisive decisions. Again, like old times.

He was at home, just waking up from a nap. Prior to falling asleep, he had pored over his copy of William's dog-eared baby picture. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon, and the recurrent dream, wherein William lives, had finished reoccurring. The day was mild, sunny; one of those days flavored by the hint of moist earth lingering in the air. It was quiet, not even birds chirped and for a long moment, Mulder wasn't sure whether or not he still dreamed as he lay outstretched on his semi-lumpy sofa.

The purity of his son's voice floated in his mind. William's voice was vibrant, filled with promise, the catalyst of scores of familiar thought patterns he knew would never leave him...

 _"Dad..."_

 _"Hmm?"_

 _"My fin broke."_

 _The timbre of his child's voice educed fluttery feelings from his heart._

 _Mulder promptly replied, "Oh." Accompanied by a generous, tender smile._

 _"Space is hard."_

 _Along with a host of other things. "All great and honorable actions are undertaken with great difficulty." Precise about how much he wanted to inflect John F. Kennedy's vocal mannerism, Mulder sermonized, "'We choose to go to the Moon in this decade, and do other things, not because they're easy...'"_

 _Father and son chanted in unison: "But because they're hard."_

 _Mulder contributed a few chuckles to round off, "That's right."_

 _Full of determination and verve, William prompted, "Come on, let's light this candle. We'll do yours first."_

 _William always had Mulder's rocket go before his. Interesting too was Scully's consistent absence. Fully awake, Mulder mulled over whether he might disclose these fugues, flights of fancy or dreams, if that was what they actually were. He didn't wish to entertain the idea that they could be precursors to some life-altering mental disorder. Wanting to believe that an imminent alien invasion was a clandestine human invention was challenging in and of itself._

 _"Okay," Mulder said, "There you go. You ready?"_

 _Predictably, William was always ready. "Yep!"_

 _Mulder counted down, "Five, four, three, two, one."_

 _Punching it with zest, William shouted, "Ignition." Then triumphantly, he vowed, "I'm gonna go up there someday." Then his voice rumbled in alarm. "Dad!"_

 _Mulder, his reaction a reflex, shouted back, "William?"_

 _As reverberations practically deafen father and son, the boy persisted. "Dad!"_

 _"No!" Mulder hollered, on the verge of losing his precious son again, as always._

Losing William, over and over, was the constant.

Rottenness seeped into Mulder's tired bones as the resonance subsided and, bereft of William, as he characteristically was, he buried his head in his hands, hearing his throbbing heart beating in his ears. In a strangled voice full of agony, he cried, "No, no, no..." Then, getting very quiet, Mulder returned to his decision-making. Under his breath, he muttered as if to self-soothe, "I'm not giving up. I'm never giving up. Unless there's absolutely no other alternative, short of death." Saying the word 'death' aloud sounded so final, despite his having lived a form of 'living death' until this reboot, this rallying call to action, had materialized.

He didn't move from the sofa, not till he realized he needed to fix himself some supper. His stomach grumbling with an out-of-control vengeance had done its work. While he was dumping the contents of a chicken with rice, exceptionally white rice, soup can into a pot, his cell phone summoned him. The one doing the summoning was wondering why there had been no word from him recently.

"Hey, Scully..."

"Mulder. What's going on? Why haven't I heard from you?" She slowed down, allowing for some latitude. "Are you all right?"

"As right as rain. Thanks for asking." He made a small face after tasting his soupy fare. Maybe he should have chosen the variety with noodles instead. Not ramen noodles, those weren't his cup of tea.

"So, what's going on?" She'd walked away from her chosen profession for this? His ex-communication? If that was the deal, a hallmark from their past association, she could just as quickly walk right back to aiding the sick and living with her personal genetic bewilderment sans him. She'd do just fine until the other shoe might drop, and she began growing two heads with alien-morphing eyes.

He hustled as he returned to the stove so his uncomplicated meal wouldn't turn into an inedible waste of time. And he'd have to start over. He had cases of the stuff. What could he say to satisfy her? "I've had a revelation about this case." Now, what was it? He worked on the problem of unruffling her feathers, as he stirred the watery mixture that sold for $2.49 a pop. A prickly Scully wasn't what he needed, not now, mostly not ever. Although, sometimes when she got that way, he would downplay the reason for such testiness. She was still the cutest when her little nostrils flared. They were a team; the powers that be had conspired, making sure that the requisite dynamic they had was forced to become ever more enduring. Scully, after having one too many, was fun. He had nearly forgotten just how bonkers she could be with a snootful. Stone-sober Scully was the woman he couldn't get enough of, though. She deserved to have another child, one they held on to, not surrender for fear the kid's odds of surviving weren't good.

"Like?"

Mulder smiled one that was a beaut. Pity she wasn't here to see it. Scully made a perfect mother, warm, compassionate, understanding, with a voice that could melt butter. Her touching interaction with Adam percolated in his mind, as he recalled...

 _"Hi, Adam," Scully said, her voice lilting. Still speaking over the speaker, she murmured, "My name is Doctor Scully. How long have you been here, Adam?"_

 _Mulder knew her heart hitched when Adam limply replied, "Forever..."_

 _"And where are your parents?" Her voice caressed the woebegone, misshapen victim._

 _What he said next broke Dana's heart; Mulder unmistakably saw. "I don't have any."_

 _Dr. Goldman informed: "He was sent to us as a baby. Adam has a form of Crouzon Syndrome."_

 _Not hiding her irritation, Scully interrogated, "Why is he in a sealed room? All of the children. He has a genetic disorder. He's not contagious."_

 _"Thank you, Adam." Mulder could see the terrible hurt in his partner's beautiful iridescent blue eyes as Dr. Goldman offered nothing that appeased her. Scully was the epitome of a mother lioness defending those poor, defenseless cubs. Goldman droned on, "We are working with therapies unavailable anywhere in the world. We need to eliminate the environmental factors that could affect the outcome. I am searching for the key that was the seed to all of these terrible genetic abnormalities..."_

And all the while Mulder only saw how much Scully had wanted to liberate all those unloved, grotesque kids, Adam most of all, suspecting that, against all odds, their abandoned baby, their William, might have shared a similar fate.

Mulder said in a super-low voice, "So...we're looking for a man-sized horned lizard, with human teeth. That's about the gist of it, isn't it?"

She sighed into the phone, then brusquely retorted, "Mulder, the internet isn't good for you."

Guffawing, he snapped out a pithy comeback. "You know about the internet, Scully?" Followed by a lengthy growl.

She pulled a face he'd seen her mug countless times, but wasn't privy to, owed to logistics. She kept quiet for a while until she heard him mumble something about had she eaten any dinner. While deciding whether she should admit about her not having had time to eat a proper meal all day, he suggested she pay him a visit at ' _Chez_ Mulder,' since it felt like forever since she'd set foot in this dwelling they had once called home.

"Nothing fancy," he promised.

"Tell me something I don't know," she teased, the tenor of her voice holding the promise of banter he had sorely missed. "Like, here's a wild guess... _Campbell's_ Chicken Noodle."

Mulder sniggered; and she liked to think she knew him like the back of her dainty, professional hand. "Close, Scully. Super close. But it's rice. _Rice_. In the soup my mother never used to make because her soups were homemade."

Her sigh was broader this time. "I guess hoping for brown rice would be too much to ask," she countered, soft-pedaling a sigh. She was parked a little ways off from the renovated farmhouse. She peeked up at the greying sky, becoming overcast. Rain was in the forecast. She could go either way, join him, not join him. Making up her mind about joining him for soup, perhaps a sandwich, and most definitely another long chat about this latest off-the-wall case, Scully reassessed.

"Bring some with you, if you like. I'll throw it in too." Setting the pot aside from the burner and its low flame, he hunted for another can of soup he planned opening and adding to the economical, bubbly eats. "When can I expect you?"

"Sooner than you think." She decided she wanted the brown rice. More nutrition over a depletion, lacking husk, bran and germ. There was a local market not too far, one she used to pop into every day. "I'll get that rice, and surprise you with dessert."

"Surprise me now. Like with my favorite," he inveigled. One German chocolate cake coming up, he hoped.

"Maybe. If you promise not to surprise me with any more surprises. There're only so many of them I can take nowadays."

"You used to take them for breakfast, lunch and dinner, Scully."

"That was a long time ago, Mulder."

"Not that long ago." He grinned and thought carefully, then slipped in, "If you're coming, come."

"Oh, I'll be there." She paused, then blurted, "I've got something to tell you. Something about William."

His emotions pressed in against him and he confessed, "So do I, Scully. So do I..."

She started her car and drove off just as a few drops of rain began falling and they each took part in ending the call.


	3. Chapter 3

**_THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH - Part 3_**

* * *

Was anyone ever too old to appreciate an ode to youth and the lovey-dovey high-jinx that went with it? Her earworm today was _Girls Chase Boys Chase Girls_. Scully would hum it, whistle a verse or two, and eventually wind up actually singing parts of refrains. So true, she thought, as she hummed away. As we try so hard to impress, sometimes we don't. Do we get over it? Should we? Hail to the yeah; sure. Easier said than done, but keeping one's life moving along the track was better than derailing. Or stagnating, right? Chuckling, Scully voiced, " _All the broken hearts in the world still beat...Let's not make it harder than it has to be_." She blew a wayward strand of silky red hair out of her mellow eyes, thinking what a kick it was chasing the willfully weird and wonky with 'her Mulder.' Old times never felt so good; she chuckled again, calling to mind another song.

" _Sweet Caroline...da-da-da...Good times never seemed so good_."

The war of the earworms had _Girls Chase Boys Chase Girls_ winning out over Neil Diamond's classic. She resumed her wistful crooning with a little added spice. " _Yeah I got two hands, one beating heart. And, we'll be all right_ , Mulder. _Gonna be all right_." Whether he was off or on his meds. She was with him, and that was what made it right. He'd be profiling in a nursing home, she in the bed beside him, and at night they'd share the same one, as Mr. and Mrs.; she'd probably keep her last name and just tack on the 'Mulder'. Mrs. Dana Scully-Mulder. Yeah, the sound of that had a certain ring. Mulder could switch around his surname, if he liked, concocting Mulder-Scully. These days, anything went. Like camera apps and some horned lizard endowed with the ability to shoot blood out of its eyeballs. Also, man-sized with human teeth.

Again, for as many times, she stated a well-known fact. "The internet isn't good for him." But, it wasn't all that terrible that he had a hobby.

Mulder was right about one of many things, she conceded. She was really enjoying herself. Old times were the best once removed from the present. And here they were being given a second chance to prove they worked like a well-oiled machine when together. You bet they did. What she had told him had rolled off her tongue.

"I forgot how much _fun_ these cases could be," she verbally-reinforced in the privacy of her living room.

But it wasn't only the case that had been fun. It went so much deeper and truer than that.

 _"It's a monster, Scully, plain and simple. And not just your everyday, run-of-the-mill monster, but we're talking transformation here. Man into monster and back again. To which I know you're going to say: '_ _But, Mulder, that only happens in werewolf myths that were originally concocted to explain away the violent behavior of people who'd been bitten by rabid animals, before the medical discovery of rabies.'_ _But is it so outlandish to believe that some legends are based on actual occurrences and not just ignorance? To which I know what you're going to say, Scully, you're going to say...'_ _But, Mulder, it defies every known law of science and nature.'_ _Exactly, Scully- every known law. What if this creature that we've stumbled upon is here to create a whole new paradigm for our understanding of life itself? Or maybe science was used to create this 'unnatural' being. Maybe this is some GMO experiment run amok by some military-agro-big-pharma corporation. Maybe this guy is its chief geneticist, who recklessly experimented on himself and now transforms into a fiend who needs to feast on human flesh. To which I know you're going to say: '_ _But, Mulder, that sounds like the paranoid ravings of some lunatic madman.'_ _I don't know what this thing is, Scully, and I don't know exactly how it came to be, I just... All I'm saying is, it's a monster."_

 _" Yeah, this is how I like my Mulder."_

 _" So you're agreeing with me?"_

 _" No! You're batcrap crazy!"_

But, he wasn't. She just loved telling him so, out loud. When he would look at her funny, she'd look right back at him the same way. They were older, wiser, but still two opposites still crazy about each other. Giggling she stroked Queequeg's replacement's soft coat. She hadn't officially named her new four-legged acquisition as yet. She'd taken to calling him Q-2. He was the cutest thing. Scully knew good and well Mulder wasn't bc-crazy. A little driven, paranoid, a bit over- anxious and zealous, but 'her Mulder' was never crazy. He knew the inexplicable when he saw it. The Mulder who would stand in front of her and rambunctiously act out her side of a hypothetical argument about lizard men.

 _Girls Chase Boys Chase Girls_ reignited in her brain and she soughed ad-libbed words. " _I'm a little bit home, but I'm not there yet. We'll be all right. We're gonna be all right. Oooooh, it's all the same thing. Girls chase boys chase girls. Girls chase boys chase girls_..."

Her mind full of the most amazing thoughts, Scully rested her head against her inviting couch's pillowed backrest. It was amazing, her ability to revive, almost to the letter, their colorful conversations.

 _"Mulder, it's me. I can't believe I'm about to say what I'm about to say, but... I think I just found your horny toad lizard man."_

 _"Really?"_

 _"Yeah."_ It had been impossible not to chuckle a little then while she'd followed up this lead _._

 _"Where are you?"_

 _" At the phone store by the motel. I think he works here."_

 _"I'll be right there."_

Scully sat up and reached for her cup of cherry spearmint tea, blinking as she sipped, thinking about her 'Foxman.' No wine for a while, she reminded herself, having to keep reminding herself. Then she rationalized how bad would one teeny nip be. She felt as if she was coming down with something, something that called for alcohol for medicinal purposes.

The corners of her mouth curved upwards. Yes, definitely. This was how she liked ' _her_ Mulder.'

 _"Hey, Scully."_

 _"Hey, Mulder, where have you been?"_

 _"I fell off the wagon, Scully. I got a little taste of my old monster-hunting ways and then I downed the whole bottle."_

 _"I take it you found your were-lizard?"_

 _"Yeah, it turns out it wasn't a man who turns into a lizard, it was a lizard who turns into a man."_

 _"I don't see the difference."_

 _"That's the point, Scully, there is no difference. Both scenarios are equally foolish. And I was foolish to believe... Well, maybe I was just a fool, Scully. Maybe I always have been._ _Where are you?"_

 _"I'm at the animal shelter. I'm waiting to see that animal control officer."_

Another lead, the one that had nearly been her undoing...

 _"So he didn't quit after all, huh?"_

 _"No, I guess maybe he's like us. Some jobs keep pulling you back."_

In her peaceful, four-walled haunt of board and batten, she continued sipping her tea in tranquility, somewhat more convinced that she should spike her brew. Secure in the knowledge that 'her Mulder' wasn't about to change. Not for her, nor anyone. A glorious thought.

 _"Ow! Oh!"_

 _"What was that? What happened?"_

 _"This little puppy here just tried to take a bite out of me."_

 _"A bite?"_

 _"He's a cute little guy, though. Kind of reminds me of Queequeg._ _You know, there was a recent comparative cognition study that showed that dogs hold hostilities toward people that harm their masters. I mean, I guess maybe I miss having a dog to love... And someone to hold my grudges for me."_

 _"Scully?"_

She had had to get FBI-busy, forced into kick-butt overdrive, when Pasha had attacked her...

 _"This is Agent Mulder with the FBI. I need emergency backup to the animal control shelter._ _And where is the animal control shelter?_ _ **Scully**!"_

Much to his relief, she had been fully capable of taking care of business, solo. Good thing she was Quantico-trained. Not to mention having signed up for several self-defense classes while away from the Bureau.

A While later, they had touched base...

 _"Hey. You missed all the fun."_

 _"Are you okay?"_

 _"Yeah, but I hate to disappoint you. It wasn't some monster running around, killing people and eating their flesh; it was a normal human being."_

 _"Did you know it was him before coming here?"_

 _"Yeah. That one autopsy result showed that the actual cause of death was strangulation. And so, on a hunch, I analyzed the pole that he left behind, and there was tissue and blood from previous victims. You're right, Mulder. You've seen one serial killer. You've seen them all."_

 _"Scully, that is the second time you've approached a dangerous suspect without backup. What's going on?"_

 _"Thought maybe you'd want some more quality time with your lizard man._ _Besides, you forget. I'm **immortal**."_

 _"Oh."_

 _"Mulder, how did you figure out it was him?"_

 _"Oh, I was going over those photos I took and realized one was of a bite mark, so if Guy's story were true, it means he must have been bitten by-"_

 _"If Guy's story were true?"_

Scully ruffled the underside of Q2's scruffy neck. "Hope you like your new home," she said, rife with indulgence interwoven by affection. She'd already bought him his own little therapeutic doggy bed.

Q2 wagged his tail and licked the spot on her finger where he'd bitten her. Even more indulgently, Scully began softly singing again. The spunky pup's body wiggle-waggled at the sound of her slightly off-key voice. "...Girls chase boys chase girls..." she murmured with a buoyant, beatific smile on her ageless face. If she were immortal, Mulder was too, relatively speaking. She just didn't plan on telling him, because if he didn't know that already, her telling him so wouldn't be enough to convince him. With eyes closed, she drifted, imagining Mulder standing in the light of the full moon, at the edge of the forest, with the man who could morph into a lizard moments before he slithered away.

Or was that the lizard that could morph into a man?

Scully patted her new pet's head and the companionable dog gazed into her welcoming eyes with his equally receptive.

Well, as Mulder had assertively told her after he had assured her he was back, 'Seeing is believing.'

And the more she sat thinking about her adorably handsome, middle-aged partner and his approach to all things not easily explained, the more Scully realized their restoration to the X-Files was no accident.

The mythic, preternatural world, grounded in the "bizzaro," had missed them too.


	4. Chapter 4

**_THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH - Part 4_**

* * *

"And...I want to believe..." She sniffled, needing time to pull herself together as best she could. Breath flowed from her, slowly, somewhat more relaxedly, she awash in regret. "We didn't treat him like trash." How ironic, their having to wrestle with the implications of the past case. Was he feeling the same as she? "We did what we thought was best for him. Only what was best."

Scully sought comfort as he sheltered her in his arms as the sting of her words bit into him. A cool breeze off the lake blew across her face; he felt her sigh as she shivered, and closed his eyes. She kept saying " _we_ ," when it had been she who'd made the decision to give up their flesh and blood. It had nothing to do with being nitpicky. But, her use of that particular pronoun bothered him. Well, for Scully, he'd share in the 'community responsibility.' He'd hold his tongue, feeling her pain profoundly, and be her rock. That was what she needed, not recrimination. Those had been some of the worst of times, back when she'd made the decision to 'protect' William, as she'd judged. She hadn't treated their baby like trash. Where was she internalizing that from? She'd wanted, still wanted the best for him, by keeping him safe. He wasn't any ordinary boy, hadn't been ordinary as a baby, and it was certainly safe to assume he was no ordinary fifteen-year old.

A silvery fin broke the grey surface of the lake with a splash. The unexpected appearance of the trout captured Mulder's attention for a moment. He and William fishing, he and his boy enjoying the sundry activities fathers and sons did, which had the power to bond them for life. Why hadn't she given him the chance to weigh in on how he felt about putting their son up for adoption? During those trying times, when had he showed signs that shirking his responsibility was his preference? Making her solely responsible for determining William's future? He still hadn't said a thing to her about his mental glimpses into their son's life, the insistent outworking of his imagination.

He wished he knew where William was right now. What he looked like. What sort of extraordinary things could he do, or perhaps couldn't do. Purely conjecture on Mulder's part, but just maybe the abilities he'd exhibited when he'd been so much younger no longer existed. Mulder clenched his jaw.

What he wouldn't give to know whether or not his son was just another average teenage kid. Rebellious? Cooperative? Did he like Rock? Or, was he into Hip-Hop and Rap? Perhaps Classical.

Country and Western? Mulder liked listening to Kenny Chesney, from time to time, not that he was a hardcore C and W aficionado.

Mulder knew for sure that William into drugs didn't sit well. He sure as shootin' hoped his kid wasn't messing with them. Mulder deplored the use of drugs, but couldn't rule out that teens and drug use was a reality. An insidious one. Those old public service messages, featuring an egg frying, clogged his memory.

Might William be a jock? What was his favorite sport? Team? Color? Flavor? Rampant speculation was endless, always was.

Mulder's mind continued filling to capacity with a multitude of questions. Questions he burned to have answers to.

Though he considered it kind of like jumping the gun... But, did his son have a girlfriend? Or, did he date, prefering to play the field? Was he better with the ladies than his old man?

"Scully..."

"Yes, Mulder?"

He grunted and amusement punctuated his voice. "Not 'Fox?'"

She shifted in his arms to take a long, appraising look at his deadpan face, probing his sage-looking eyes with hers.

"You prefer Mulder to Fox, don't you?"

Her body went along for the ride when he shrugged. "You can call me anything you like, Dana, as long as you call me. Don't stop calling me. I'm here for you, Scully." He hunched over a bit to softly plant a kiss on her warm, furrowed forehead.

"Mulder, we need to find him," she pleaded, with a wrinkle of her nose and the uplift of one still-perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"And then what?"

His graphic undertone of pragmaticism overwhelmed her momentarily. He was challenging how she felt, what she couldn't help. Just as he couldn't help being this older, a bit more realistic version of the quixotic younger man he once was. A rush of nostalgia engulfed her. She remembered and couldn't stop, then snuggled more firmly against him. "And then, nothing. I just want to see him. Get, even if it's a sketchy idea, of what he's like. I can't stop thinking about him." Her voice took on a slight edge. "All right. Yes. I've become obsessed." The thickness he clearly heard, trapped in her voice, caught him solidly. "Unorthodox, but true. I'm guilty. I need to find William. _I_ gave him away. _I_ did that. I want him back...at least something more to hold on to than memories of him cooing and gurgling at me in his crib, making that mobile spin and stop, spin and stop, on its own."

He dared himself to reveal to her what had become his preoccupation as well. "When we started off, who would have thought we'd wind up having so much in common."

She liked how he'd said that. "Yeah. Never ceases to amaze."

"I share your obsession," he freely admitted, tightening his hold of her in arms unwavering and exclusively for her.

Against the fabric of his tailored suit, Scully pressed her lips. His dressing better these days was truly impressive and this wasn't the first she'd thought so. "Is there anything we can do to find him? Is it too impossible? Too out of the question?" Her voice burrowed its way into the recesses of his mind, often a shadowy, secretive place, filled with hopes and expectations. Dreams and schemes. Letting her back in would take time.

Speaking from their personal experience, Mulder succintly replied, "You already know the answer to that." Squeezing her shoulder, he whispered, "Dana. Nothing's impossible." Kissing the top of her soft head as he breathed in the irresistible aroma of lilac, he bolstered, "So, let's say we make finding our boy our own personal X-File, since it's what we do best. Searching for the unknown, regardless of what we find."

All done in the strictest sense of its being hush-hush.

"Can we?" Scully asked, sounding nothing like a seasoned medical doctor with a wealth of F.B.I. special agent metaphysical experience under her Michael-Kors belt. Having put her heart's desire out there, even if he thought it was the worst idea she'd ever had, at least she'd had the guts to tell him. Tellling him, at long last, felt so many descriptions of good.

Her guileless appeal got to him, with the swelling of his heart. He eased her chin into the palm of his hand, cupping it lovingly, to caress that look she had in her eyes with one of his own. "It may not be the wisest decision, but it just feels right. And feeling right, although often maligned these days, is like the X-Files being reopened." His contentment was genuine, with her eyes shining into his.

"I couldn't have said it any better myself," Scully concurred, taking his weathered hand to mold it securely with hers. "Where to start?"

"Where we normally do." His pause was entirely for dramatic effect. "At the beginning..."

"At the beginning," she repeated, feeling in her bones how right Mulder was about everything that mattered to them. Everything that made them inseparable.

In the back of his mind, he heard the ominous, albeit comforting strains, of his phone's ringtone...which brought a faint smile to his lips. That fragile gesture couldn't help but disappear as he seriously considered what coming in contact with their offspring would mean for them in the end. They couldn't be a family, the three of them; that was hardly feasible. He was theirs by virtue of genetics only.

And yet, determined to please Scully, he pushed that out of his mind, hoping that, if, or when, they found their son, the heartbreak of seeing William, their getting all caught up in marveling him from afar, wouldn't break them both.


	5. Chapter 5

**_THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH - Part 5_**

* * *

The radio was on, and _'The Search Is Over_ ,' a smash of the group Survivor, was playing. A sizeable lump had formed quickly in one throat of the car's two occupants. The hit had charted on the Billboard 100, peaking at number 4 during the week of July 13, 1985 and had remained on the chart for 14 weeks in total. The F.B.I.'s recently reinstated had gone to sit in Scully's car, parked in front of the house they'd once shared, after she'd taken his hand, threading her fingers between his. The day was peaceful, warm, but the breeze cooled them as it wafted through all four open car windows. Mulder breathed in deeply, practically inhaling the song's lyrics, just loving this schmaltzy old tune. He strove to remember where he'd been when he had first heard it. Try as he may, he couldn't quite place where. At home? During a school free period? In a car, like now, only back then had the car been moving, unlike now?

 _'How can I convince you? What you see is real. Who am I to blame you? For doubting what you feel? Can we last forever? Will we fall apart? At times it's so confusing. The questions of the heart. You followed me through changes. And patiently you'd wait. Till I came to my senses through some miracle of fate..._ '

He cracked open an eye, then the other to glance at her, remembering how good it felt to share the same air space.

' _Now the miles stretch out behind me. Loves that I have lost. Broken hearts lie victims of the game. Then good love, it finally struck like lighting from the blue. Every highway's leading me back to you..._ '

Words never seemed truer and he felt the need to warble along with the group as he coaxed Scully into his arms starved for bearing her weight.

 _'Now at last I hold you. Now all is said and done. The search has come full circle. Our destinies are one. So if you ever loved me, show me that you really care. You'll know for certain the man I really am..._ '

Then, full throttle, with full-throated gusto, he belted out:

 _'I was living for a dream. Loving for a moment. Taking on the world. That was just my style. Then I touched your hand...I could hear you whisper. The search is over. Love was right before my eyes._ '

He'd always been a great one for ad-libbing, substituting words for what he wanted them to be. He sighed when kissing her crown of vibrant red. Considering the severity of their last out-of-body experience, especially for him, thwarting a terrorist plot, Mulder felt more at peace than he'd felt for a while. Scully had come by, he suspected, to check up on him. Her relaxed breathing against him, her limbs less jellied under his hands, as he held her, was like a balm to him. She'd made the station selection this time around. "Good choice, Scully," had been his stamp of approval. He had assured that her going for 80s hits was his unspoken request while mentally he had x'd-out stations he branded subpar, not fit for a frequency.

Scully happened to mention how much of a fan her father and mother were of big band music. He couldn't help bringing up the debate of the merits of lyrics versus orchestrations. He heard Scully's instinctive, emotionally raw sighs when this song played. If there were one person on this planet to give him a run for his money profiling, he was cradling the 'toughie,' and it was doing him all kinds of good. Throughout these enigmatic years, he had tried silently profiling her, quietly filing away everything about her and trying to understand. He only discovered when it was both too late, and not late enough, that Scully eluded categorization. She only made everything else make sense. He loved her, had come to love her with fervid, unquenchable passion, this timeless woman, whom there was still so much to learn about.

They had fallen silent again, listening with their hearts, reliving the times they'd had, the good and the bad, in this old house, the hoarder of memories.

Scully asked him, when showing a hint of a smile and the film of dampness in her eyes, "We will find him, Mulder."

"You bet we will." With so much ground to cover, where to start, though? He leaned back, just a tad from her, to bask in her look of untainted hope. "If there's anything I've learned from my magical, mystery tour it's..." His face, he thought, was carefully blank and open for whatever she needed it to be. "Where no stone's been left unturned, it's no surprise when two more turn up." He gave her a slight nod before stepping out of the car and walking toward the house. He was already up a few porch steps when, to his surprise, he heard the car door open and the crunch of hard heeled shoes on pebbles and dry, browned grass. Stopping, he wheeled around, seeing Scully plant herself a few paces from the car. "The power of suggestion is a placebo in its own right." Her face was giving his blankness a run for its money. As sure as a reflex, Mulder raised his arm out to her and like electricity to a lightening rod, Scully arced toward his outstretched fingers. Drawing near, ever nearer. Her hand began rising just as he parked himself on a step, with the invitation extended; his hand patted the dusted off space next to him.

Sitting beside Mulder, with their thighs touching, Scully eventually said, "Have any idea why my hair is red?"

Questions straight out of left field were no strangers to him. He fielded them easily enough. "I assume genetics lent a hand. Hair of fire. So uncommon. In medieval times it was deemed unnatural, only something someone having otherworldly connections possessed." He grimaced, mentally touching upon his own experience with the power of suggestion and ramifications of susceptibility.

Was Scully doing the same?

"My father and his brother," she introduced without missing a beat, "had red hair. Their mother was a redhead also. I didn't see my uncle much, only a handful of times when I was a kid. He was a navy man like my dad. Our families' paths seldom crossed. There were pictures, though. So I know he had red hair."

"Melissa's hair was red too," Mulder softly slipped in, like releasing a fish too small to keep back into its watery domain.

"Yeah. Melissa had red hair too." Her sister's beautiful hair, which Scully used to beg Melissa that she might brush, flooded the agent's thoughts. "Mom liked to joke. Said that she knew we were really _his_. We were Daddy's girls. We had the _vermilion_ Scully hair. Charlie, on the other hand, did not."

No prompting on Mulder's part got Scully to continue, although, he sensed she had hit a contemplative wall. Genuinely curious, he questioned, "What does Charlie look like?" Speaking of photographs, as she had spoken of, he realized that he'd never seen even one of the younger brother. The sibling Margaret Scully had clamored for wanting to see.

"A lot like Bill," Scully filled in. "But Charlie's shorter, with a heavier scowl."

"Heavier than Bill's?" Mulder widened his eyes, and held off from saying, _'Talk about an X-File_.' His mouth contorting, he uttered his most undignified _eek_ sound.

With Scully chuckling, Mulder snuck a sidelong glance in her direction and was treated to the heart-stealing sight of seeing her eyes crinkle as her cheeks flamed-on. She made some defiant-sounding remark about hating to blush. Then, while Mulder laughed, Scully blushed and rueed that she was doing so even more, as if this unruly display of emotion was her most foul enemy. Which it probably was, even when such a homespun display was for his eyes only. She blushed at the insistence of other emotions as well. She had blushed in front of him so many times now, the number had neared infinity, pushing for beyond.

Yet, each time she blushed, impossibly, it still felt all shiny and new, making him feel that way too.

Her confession tumbled out. "Charlie's, Charlie. Hard-shelled, but I've always wanted to believe the meat inside is good. I'm sorry he didn't come out here for Mom, and for you two to meet."

"For you to see that he would, you mean." Mulder read Scully's subtext like a book, one once it was open, he found hard to shut.

"That too."

Following the winner of a pregnant pause, she heard Mulder carefully say, "I'm sorry about your mom, Scully."

"Thanks, Mulder. You know I know that." She anchored herself against his arm. "Thank you," she gushed, resting her palm across his forearm. He bowed his head down toward hers, feeling her relax into him as their temples touched. Feeling her heartbeats resonate through him never got old. They cycled and cycled, until he swore that they were intimately synched, their biorhythms fused as one, never to be separated. His, with hers, on and on and on. Until the amalgam life, made from their fusion, ceased.

Again, they fell into comfortable silence for a time.

This wasn't the time for spewing those big money scientific words of hers, coupled with the reams of journal articles she could quote off the top of her delicate-looking red-haired head. But it was true, he thought. Just as surely as opposites attracted, they'd fallen in step a long, long time ago.

When sufficient time she deemed had passed, she eventually lifted up her head and sweetly urged him to free her. "Go into your house, Mulder. Get some rest." The suggestion was borne out of unbridled concern. This last case had been a certified mindblower, nearly making Mulder certifiable. And there wasn't that much of Mulder's mind to spare, she felt.

"So it's _my_ house but _our_ decision?"

"What? Huh? Yes?" The weight of her stare on him lessened. He'd lost her, coupled with his being a little lost himself, not exactly sure where that had come from.

"You know as well as I do that this was always _our_ home," he stipulated, tossing that ephemeral 'Scully' look she gave him right back.

A tempest in a teapot quality overtook Scully with her whispered, "Yes," said so softy, Mulder saw her mouth move more than he could hear her say it. Even with that affirmative her eyebrows rose in question and in anticipation. There had to be more, much more.

For good reason, Mulder suddenly felt very small and shy, and he wondered out loud, unable to help himself, "Scully, do you think William has red hair?"

"No. not at all. He doesn't. You have seen him."

"Yeah, sure. But, y'know way back then, he was just sporting a little head of fluff. It's weird. Samantha looked kind of like that as a baby too. That's us for you. The _Mulders_."

In spite of working like someone who was a Union member to stifle her whimper, Scully lamented, "I shouldn't have done what I did."

He shook his head to make her stop shaking hers. "We were on the run, running out of time. _Our_ baby, _our_ sacrifice. Keeping him safe. Not in so many words, I tacitly steered you in that direction. To give him up."

"When have I ever? Said _that_?" she choked out.

While nodding, with her hand that was still on his arm, feeling as though it had regained Earth weight, he sighed, withholding immediate comment. Giving her a look that spoke volumes. And, mercifully, they fell into such a profound silence that the land they were smack dab in the middle of held its breath until either one dared say something. No birds tweeted, no leaves hanging limply on the trees fluttered, not one plane flew overhead. Not even the house, currently the other subject of contention, creaked. And Mulder often would say how much this old barn of a house creaked when it shifted.

 _Spooky..._

Eager to slit the cone of silence, Mulder said, "I get it, Scully, I really do. You had my trust."

" _Had_?" she repined, looking as agitated as she now felt.

" _Have_. _Always_. Have." It took some finesse, but once he'd finessed her, he had her tucked beneath his armpit, settled. "But, you know what, Scully. Going forward." She was still in her niche of the cone of silence. He went on as he was known to do. "It's okay. Your decision. Our baby..."

She stirred, yanking herself from him in a swift jerk. Purposely, her prickly tone bit into him. "I don't need your permission or condolences, Mulder. And certainly not at this late date, years later."

Shaking off her resentment, inured to what lay beneath it, he blamed himself for not being clear. She was angry; he, used to absorbing it. They made quite a right pair. Maybe the basement was where they belonged, night and day. "Scully, Scullee. No. You don't." Her eyebrows rose again even as her brow furrowed. _How does she do that_? As astounding as always. Like she was. Those expressive eyebrows were tucked into a very large folder stored in his mental filing cabinet. "I just mean," he loosely stammered, "at the time, when it was-"

"When it was so hard, Mulder," she spazzed. "When you thought you could be there, but weren't. Then you tried to be and couldn't be." She drilled down, unearthing things unalterably painful. "William didn't have red hair. But, now... Maybe he... Maybe we'll know..."

"When we find him," he forcefully comforted.

The downward movement of her head caused her hair to fall like a curtain between them. Her hair she'd worn long for years now. Should he just happen to mention that he missed its being shorter? When it was shorter, he could see her chin, maybe a hint of cheek, when she glanced down. She had the habit of looking down often, rather than emote in plain sight of his face. He could tell when she was about to speak after looking down by the way her chin would slightly move just under her hairline. Her lips would loosen before she made the final rational decision to speak out loud. He could tell when she cried. Always silently. Seeing a tear sneak down her face and hang on for dear life would be easy to spot.

With her hair longer like this, he found himself peering in from the outside without a clue.

The faraway ilk of her voice took him by surprise. "I saw him the other day, Mulder. I saw William."

As the hairs on the back of his neck pushed up, he yelped like a cat getting its tail caught in a closing door.

"In my dream," Scully blurted, clarifying, soreness developing in her throat with the advent of unshed tears.

He didn't war-whoop, praising her muddled existence as was his. Instead, he treaded lightly. "Me too." _So me too_ , he thought, stroking the still supple and soft skin around her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

Her learned eyes popped wide open and the curtain of hair got thrown back. " _Really_?"

"When I dream of him, he doesn't have red hair." It was time to share, have her see just how deeply the very essence of William ran in his soul, fondled his psyche.

Seeing her cheeks blush and noting that her eyebrows had relaxed at some point he had missed, he smiled as her eyes, which sparked, raised to his. "Guess he's a Mulder then, like you said."

"Only half, Mulder, Scully." When he was sure that had sunk in, he expounded, "Not the better half, which is the _Scully_ half, Scully."

It wouldn't have been humanly possible if they hadn't been grinning at each other now. Sitting there on the stairs, feeling the sea change happening in the twinkling of an eye. In their eyes. Had they changed that much as though defying the passage of time? Last time he checked, there were no UFOs in the vicinity.

"Come on, momma of _our_ child," he invited as he feathered a hand on her shoulder. "I put the kettle on just in case you stopped by. Inside, you've got tea."

He didn't wait on her reply before rising, knowing that she would rise with him. It was what she did, what she never thought twice about doing, tethering herself to him, and he to her, the cosine to his sine, and vice versa. Mulder's grin expanded, as he stored all that was unchangeable about them, for reviving, and re-savoring in the days to come.

The front door was open for her to push open. Mulder, right behind her, opened it wider, and without another word, they went in.


	6. Chapter 6

**_THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH - Part 6_**

* * *

"Yes it was, Mulder," she said, smiling and swinging their hands back and forth between them. Sometimes she literally shook him back to this earthly plane. "You know that trains go by here."

Mulder and Scully sat on opposite sides of the living room under dim evening light reading vastly different texts. Hers included photographs of things he couldn't pronounce, and his contained hand-drawn eyewitness renderings of things she didn't believe existed. They were impeccable at companionable silence.

Outside these walls, a train approached, rattling some of the house's looser floorboards and prompting Scully to whistle along with the train's faint call. She claimed that it was good for them to have something to break the silence every now and then, to remind them that the world outside spun madly, heedlessly on. He cited that it was good the world didn't screech to a halt like a scratched record at the sound of that whistling. She picked up and threw some sunflower seeds at him. He loved leaving bowls of those things all over the house, resigning her to chagrin. None of the seeds reached anywhere near him since he was too far away. Plus, her aim had been thrown off by her eyes having narrowed to a faux glare.

One hour or so later, Mulder's head rested on Scully's bare shoulder while she lazily rubbed his head and sing-sang that the earth was spinning off-kilter on its axis. He didn't say whether that was true, or just another one of the Lone Gunmen's unvetted theories. He, in all innocence, asked her to whistle, and stop the world at this moment forever.

"No. It was trumpets, Scully." He tilted his head to the side. "Wasn't it?"

"Power of suggestion, Mulder. You've been thinking about the sound of trumpets coming from seemingly nowhere for days on end. It's no surprise that your unconscious mind made the leap in processing a sound out here where it's fairly isolated and typically quiet."

"But, trumpets have a very distinct sound, Scully-"

"Or," she interrupted, "it could have been a sort of palinacousis, an auditory preservation. You heard the trumpeting sound now even though you've finally stopped listening to the sound of trumpets on that recording - that is, the alleged sound of trumpets."

He humphed, sounding quite unapologetic.

"Placebo or not," she continued, "who knows what happened to your brain in Texas after taking those pills. They could be having residual effects on your interpretation of sound."

"Maybe that's what's beyond words, Scully. Sound. It's not opening hearts and listening to them that humanity must do to rediscover its common language. It's the quiet sounds of truth that are all around."

"Like trains?"

He smirked. "Listen, Scully. Listen." He redirected his glance back up to the ceiling.

Scully started doing the same before she shook her head. "Mulder..."

He shushed her with a wave of his hand.

"Mulder," she repeated with a touch more vigor. He shushed her with both hands for scrupulous effect.

Scully made him pay attention, pulling his head down one-handed for a very sudden, very emphatic kiss. If Mulder was surprised, he didn't act it. His hands threaded into her hair, and he leaned closer. Her free hand rode down the side of his shirt before sweeping under its hem where her fingers tucked into his waistband. Her other hand somehow followed suit, maybe at the same time, maybe later. She wasn't terribly focused on her hands.

After a time, they parted. Scully gazed up at Mulder, but his eyes were slightly closed.

"Scully, did I hallucinate that?"

"No," she insisted.

His eyes slowly opened in reply.

" _Folie à deux_ , a madness shared by two," she gently whispered.

Some days later, they were trimming hedges together all afternoon. This house had so many hedges and out of control weed patches that ditching work, days at a time, hadn't been enough for her to help him tame the yard into presentability. She didn't think she was helping all that well. Mulder had done much more of the work because constantly moving around a little step ladder and climbing up and down like she needed to, to reach most hedge tops, was quite unnecessary. She hadn't complained until she was standing on the ladder one moment and falling off of it the next.

Mulder's fault. He had snuck up, grabbed her from behind, and jostled her right off the ladder.

He spun her 180 degrees and held her right where he wanted her. Her legs hung ineffectually, wiggling quite absurdly in the air. She cried out, protesting about holding shears and wasn't at all afraid to use them. In reply, Mulder spun her around a bit more. Not a complete surprise. Nowhere near extraordinary.

They were both screeching and chuckling and generally violating the codes of decorum, when one of her squirming heels connected with his leg, eliciting a yelp that pleased Scully very much. He deserved it. Why? He was insane, that's why. It was only when he set her down with a firm hold of her waist that, without saying a word, he gave her hips a quick pat and turned around to resume the untangling of a garden hose.

 _Insane,_ Scully thought, smiling coyly, conjecturing about his particular brand of it.

A week later, she held hands with him again and continued walking away from the house. It was peaceful, serenely quiet, save the shuffling of their feet, a soft, tranquilizing sound as they walked slowly down the familiar path. For a spell, there was no talking as they walked farther.

"Do you think we're going to lose the basement to those agents? Miller and Einstein?"

"I don't know, Mulder." Why would she have any idea? She was a doctor and a scientist, not clairvoyant.

"Maybe we could booby-trap the office."

"I don't think that's recommended FBI procedure."

"They've kept us on after worse," he reported with a good deal of pride.

"True," admitted Scully, attuned to the way their footfalls coincided as her slickly-soled shoe suddenly slipped on the gravelly dirt. She veered to her left, giving Mulder's arm a light tug to follow her onto the grass. He followed without a word.

Gently, he asked once he saw her looking at him with a thoughtful expression, "Do you want to stay on, Scully?"

"Do you, Mulder?" Her voice held promise of granting whatever he needed from her.

"It's given me a place to be again. Really _BE_ , Scully. Being with you again. You're there, so..."

"So, there you are. You always said I'm yours, but you're mine. My touchstone." She squeezed his hand, intimating that they should sit. Be grounded for this, albeit, she wore white pants. A gross misjudgment, as though that was something new.

Scully felt that they should watch the space station fly overhead and had insisted that the best view was not through a window and not from the porch but down the drive, away from the light of the house. Mulder stopped to tie up his shoes as Scully scuttled ahead of him. It wasn't often that Mulder's long legs failed him. Outpacing her was usually easy, but this time around, he actually had to jog much faster to catch up with her.

In the rush, Scully forgot to bring the blanket and binoculars she had carefully set out that morning on the table inside the front door. She knew that binoculars wouldn't make the space station any clearer to see, but the moon would be out, and Mulder enjoyed pretending that he could see little green men in the craters, who called them "Miss Scully" and "Mr. Mulder."

Being out in the country with him was an experience. As she kept thinking, his imagination trumped any hallucinogin.

They sat on the grass, it having become a nice habit, wanting to avoid the dirt of the driveway path. The ground, however, was unexpectedly damp and soaked into their clothes, making a mess. The entire walk back to the house, Mulder circled around and around Scully, pointing and hooting at her disarray. Perhaps she shouldn't have leaned back on her elbows to better see the sky, or leaned over to Mulder to whisper in his ear. Again another fault of his that ended in more exaggerated leaning after her whispering turned into kissing. His hand had cupped her mouth as the moon disappeared behind silvery clouds.

Scully incoherently told him that the blanket they sat on was a space blanket. Playfully, Mulder began humming, _'Fly Me To The Moon_.'

The stains on the pants she'd had on that night never washed out.

Today was a brilliant sunny day, but a brief burst of wind that blew Scully's dark jacket open. She immediately dropped Mulder's just-squeezed hand and used her palms to brace either side of the coat against her body. She kept walking on like a solider for a few paces, holding the pockets safe, before working her hands into them where her fingers fussed around to the corners before pulling out the necklace that was inside one of the pockets. It was her mother's framed quarter on a chain.

Mulder glanced over and asked, "Do you have any new ideas about what it means?"

"I've thought so much about where Mom got this necklace, Mulder, and why she had it with her at the hospital, but I just don't know. I don't think I'll ever know."

"Maybe not," he opined, reaching over to hold her hand again, but she held the necklace with both hands now and swerved them away from him. His hand fell back, empty, to his sides.

"But you know what? I don't think it's about that anymore."

He looked at Scully questioningly as they continued ambling along the grass.

"I think I know why I have it, or why it found me."

"It _found_ you, Scully? Now who's open to extreme possibilities?"

It was Scully's turn to induce silence with a hand wave, which she did, with flourish and a beatific smile. "It's a mystery, this necklace. It has secrets," she allowed, as she held it out in front of her by its chain. She moved it toward Mulder and stopped walking. "Here, take it," she invited as he halted too.

"Scully?"

"Yes, take it." Puzzled, but willingly, he obeyed, with a hint of puppy dog eyes obedience. "Nobody will know why you have that necklace, Mulder, or where you got it, but we'll know."

"We'll know," he echoed, and they smiled. He flipped the coin over and over in his fingers, the movement drawing both their eyes to his hands as he said seriously, "I'm a quarter of the person you are."

She guffawed, right out there in the sunshine. Her outburst at his expense came even as she knew he wasn't being entirely facetious. It went without saying that some part of him actually believed that.

Mulder still hadn't looked up, so it was easier for her to reach him and swipe a kiss across his cheek as she pushed against his elbow, urging them both to turn around and walk. He slipped the necklace into one of his pockets with one hand while his other hand found hers as they started their way back home.

They vowed that their hunt for William would begin as soon as they got this white elephant of a house under better control.

Not too long after this, as the world went downhill in a hurry, Mulder lay strewn across the front seat of Agent Miller's car, fighting for his life, centering all his concentration on the only woman who had ever mattered in his life. Mesmerized, staring up into the heart of darkness, Scully peered into the shaft of blinding light pouring down from an aircraft of unknown origin, wincing. The CSM had told Fox that she was elite, destined to survive.

Mulder tried calling to her, but too weak to utter even the faintest sound.

Would she live? Would he? Was William succumbing, or thriving through all this? Perhaps, in the next few moments that raced by, as humankind held its collective breath, the truth submerged in every X-File they'd ever investigated might, at long last, be pushed to the fore.


End file.
